Plume Of Days Poem by Gary Witt
Plume Of Days
We hardly sense this tectonic friction,
This eustatic surrender, as huge plates
Yield haltingly, implacably, to a
Seismic shifting that undermines the soul.
But one time we might hear a great, distant
Murmur, or feel a faint tremor that will
Cause a voice to crack, a hand to shake.
Or sometime we might see our silent, staid
Assumptions that formerly rested in
Substrata become exposed outcroppings,
Tossed up along a fault line of ancient,
Vernal realities, now disavowed.
And then we will feel the days bleed away,
Unseen, unremediated, and as
Volatile as the petroleum plume
From a leaking underground storage tank.
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5/14/2024 9:10:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Under torture, you are the blade, the world the anvil, life the hammer- the shift, the rift -letting go of old assumptions but then the days with this realization - the days slip away not as ephemerally as the steam of lava falling into the sea but dangerously, potentially explosive - a leaking tank poisons the surronding environment -strange how pressure exposed staid assumptions that land on vernal realities that one no longer believes in leads to what appears to be cancerous days hemoraging IS it because the vernal realities have been lost in the shuffle? or because we wander in a barren landscape of contorted strata? Or? ? ?